A Lovely Sunday for Creve Coeur (9 page)

Read A Lovely Sunday for Creve Coeur Online

Authors: Tennessee Williams

BOOK: A Lovely Sunday for Creve Coeur
3.03Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

DOROTHEA:
Yes, there must be. Do that. Let’s not prolong this discussion. I see it’s painful to you.

BODEY:
—Do
you? No.
It’s—you
I’m thinking of, Dotty.
—Now
if for some reason you should change your mind, here is the schedule of the
open-air
streetcars to Creve Coeur.

HELENA:
Yellowing with antiquity. Is it legible still?

BODEY:
We’ll still be hoping that you might decide to join us, you know that, Dotty.

DOROTHEA:
Yes, of
course—I
know that. Now why don’t you finish packing and start out to the station?

BODEY:
—Yes
.
—But
remember how welcome you would be
if—shoes
. [
She starts into the bedroom to put on her shoes
.] I still have my slippers on.

DOROTHEA
[
to Helena after Bodey has gone into the bedroom
]: So! You’ve got the postdated check. I will move to Westmoreland Place with you July first, although I’ll have to stretch quite a bit to make ends meet in such an expensive apartment.

HELENA:
Think of the advantages. A fashionable address, two bedrooms, a baby grand in the front room
and—

DOROTHEA:
Yes, I know. It would be a very good place to entertain Ralph.

HELENA:
I trust that entertaining Ralph is not your only motive in making this move to Westmoreland Place.

DOROTHEA:
Not the only, but the principal one.

HELENA
[
leaning forward slowly, eyes widening
]: Oh, my dear Dorothea! I have the very odd feeling that I saw the name Ralph Ellis in the newspaper. In the society section.

DOROTHEA:
In the society section?

HELENA:
I think so, yes. I’m sure so.

[
Rising tensely, Dorothea locates the Sunday paper which Bodey had left on the sofa, in some disarray, after removing the

certain
item”—the
society page. She hurriedly looks through the various sections trying to find the society news
.]

DOROTHEA:
Bodey?—BOOO-DEYY
!

BODEY:
What, Dotty?

DOROTHEA:
Where is the society page of the
Post-Dispatch?

BODEY:
—Oh
 . . .

DOROTHEA:
What does “oh” mean? It’s disappeared from the paper and I’d like to know where.

BODEY:
Dotty,
I—

DOROTHEA:
What’s wrong with you? Why are you upset? I just want to know if you’ve seen the society page of the Sunday paper?

BODEY:
—Why
,
I—used
it to wrap fried chicken up with, honey.

DOROTHEA
[
to Helena
]: The only part of the paper in which I have any interest. She takes it and wraps fried chicken in it before I get up in the morning! You see what I mean? Do you understand now? [
She turns back to Bodey
.] Please remove the fried chicken from the society page and
let me have it!

BODEY:
—Honey
, the chicken makes the paper so greasy
that—

DOROTHEA:
I will unwrap it myself!
[
She charges into the kitchenette, unwraps the chicken, and folds out the section of pages
.]
—A
section has been torn out of it? Why? What for?

BODEY:
Is it?
I—

DOROTHEA:
Nobody possibly could have done it but you. What did you do with the torn out piece of the paper?

BODEY:
—I—
[
She shakes her head helplessly
.]

DOROTHEA:
Here it
is! —Crumpled
and tossed in the
wastebasket!—What
for, I wonder? [
She snatches up the crumpled paper from the wastebasket and straightens it, using both palms to press it hard against the kitchen table so as to flatten it. She holds up the
torn-out
section of the paper so the audience can see a large photograph of a young woman, good looking in a plain fashion, wearing a hard smile of triumph, then she reads aloud in a hoarse, stricken voice
.] Mr. and Mrs. James Finley announce the engagement of their daughter, Miss Constance Finley, to Mr.—T. Ralph Ellis, principal
of—

[
Pause. There is much stage business. Dorothea is stunned for some moments but then comes to violent life and action. She picks up the picnic shoebox, thrusts it fiercely into Bodey’s hands, opens the door for her but rushes back to pick up Bodey’s small black straw hat trimmed with paper daises, then opens the door for Bodey again with a violent gesture meaning, “Go quick!” Bodey goes. In the hall we hear various articles falling from Bodey’s hold and a small, panting gasp. Then there is silence. Helena gets up with a mechanical air of sympathy
.]

HELENA:
That woman is sly all right but not as sly as she’s stupid. She might have guessed you’d want the society page and notice Mr. Ellis’s engagement had been torn out. Anyhow, the news would have reached you at the school tomorrow. Of course I can’t understand how you could be taken in by whatever little attentions you may have received from Ralph Ellis.

DOROTHEA:
—“Little—attentions?”
I assure you they were
not—“little
attentions,” they
were—

HELENA:
Little attentions which you magnified in your imagination. Well, now, let us dismiss the matter, which has dismissed
itself! Dorothea, about the postdated check, I’m not sure the real estate agents would be satisfied with that. Now surely, Dorothea, surely you have relatives who could help you with a down payment in cash?

DOROTHEA:
—Helena
, I’m not interested in Westmoreland Place.
—Now
.

HELENA:
What!

DOROTHEA:
I’ve—abandoned
that idea. I’ve decided not to move.

HELENA
[
aghast
]:
—Do
you realize what a shockingly irresponsible thing you are doing? Don’t you realize that you are placing me in a very unfair position? You led me to believe I could count on your sharing the expense of the place, and now, at the last moment, when I have no time to get hold of someone else, you
suddenly—pull
out. It’s really irresponsible of you. It’s a really very irresponsible thing to do.

DOROTHEA:
—I’m
afraid we wouldn’t have really gotten along together. I’m not uncomfortable here. It’s only two blocks from the school
and—I
won’t be needing a place I can’t afford to
entertain—anyone
now.
—I
think I would like to be alone.

HELENA:
All I can say is, the only thing I can say
is—

DOROTHEA:
Don’t say it, just,
just—leave
me alone, now, Helena.

HELENA:
Well, that I shall do. You may be right, we wouldn’t have gotten along. Perhaps Miss Bodenheifer and her twin brother are much more on your social and cultural level than I’d hoped. And of course there’s always the charm of Miss Gluck from upstairs.

DOROTHEA:
The prospect of that is not as dismaying to me, Helena, as the little card parties and teas you’d had in mind for us on Westmoreland Place . . .

HELENA:
Chacun à son goût
.

DOROTHEA:
Yes, yes.

HELENA
[
at the door
]: There is rarely a graceful way to say
good-bye
. [
She exits
.]

[
Pause. Dorothea shuts her eyes very tight and raises a clenched hand in the air, nodding her head several times as if affirming an unhappy suspicion regarding the way of the world. This gesture suffices to discharge her sense of defeat. Now she springs up determinedly and goes to the phone
.

[
While waiting for a connection, she notices Miss Gluck seated disconsolately in a corner of the kitchenette
.]

DOROTHEA:
Now Miss Gluck, now Sophie, we must pull ourselves together and go on. Go on, we must just go on, that’s all that life seems to offer
and—demand
. [
She turns her attention to the phone
.] Hello, operator, can you get me information,
please? —Hello?
Information? Can you get me the number of the little station at the end of the Delmar
car-line
where you catch the,
the—open
streetcar that goes out to Creve Coeur
Lake?— Thank
you.

MISS GLUCK
[
speaking English with difficulty and a heavy German accent
]: Please don’t leave me alone. I can’t go up!

DOROTHEA
[
her attention still occupied with the phone
]: Creve Coeur
car-line
station? Look. On the platform in a few minutes will be a plumpish little woman with a big artificial
flower over one ear and a stoutish man with her, probably with a cigar. I have to get an important message to them. Tell them that Dotty called and has decided to go to Creve Coeur with them after all so will they please wait. You’ll have to shout to the woman because
she’s
—deaf
 . . .

[
For some reason the word “deaf“ chokes her and she begins to sob as she hangs up the phone. Miss Gluck rises, sobbing louder
.]

No, no, Sophie, come here. [
Impulsively she draws Miss Gluck into her arms
.] I know, Sophie, I know, crying is a release, but
it—inflames
the eyes.

[
She takes Miss Gluck to the armchair and seats her there. Then she goes to the kitchenette, gets a cup of coffee and a cruller, and brings them to Sophie
.]

Make yourself comfortable, Sophie.

[
She goes to the bedroom, gets a pair of gloves, then returns and crosses to the kitchen table to collect her hat and pocketbook. She goes to the door, opens it, and says
 . . .]

We’ll be back before dark.

THE LIGHTS DIM OUT

New Directions
Paperbooks—a
partial listing

Cèsar Aira, Ghosts

Paul Auster, The Red Notebook

Djuna Barnes, Nightwood

Charles Baudelaire, The Flowers of Evil

Bei Dao, The August Sleepwalker

Roberto Bolaño, By Night in Chile, Last Evenings on Earth

Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths

Kamau Brathwaite, Middle Passages

Basil Bunting, Complete Poems

Anne Carson, Glass, Irony & God

Horatio Castellanos Moya, Senselessness

Camilo José Cela, Mazurka for Two Dead Men

Louis-Ferdinand
Céline, Journey to the End of the Night

Inger Christensen, alphabet

Julio Cortázar, Cronopios & Famas

Robert Creeley, If I Were Writing This

Osamu Dazai, The Setting Sun

H.D., Trilogy

Robert Duncan, Selected Poems

Eça de Queirós, The Maias

Shusaku Endo, Deep River

Jenny Erpenbeck, The Book of Words

Lawrence Ferlinghetti, A Coney Island of the Mind, Poetry as Insurgent Art

F. Scott Fitzgerald, The
Crack-Up

Forrest Gander, As a Friend

Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

Takashi Hiraide, For the Fighting Spirit of the Walnut (bilingual)

Susan Howe, My Emily Dickinson

Bohumil Hrabal, I Served the King of England

Christopher Isherwood, Berlin Stories

B.S. Johnson, The Unfortunates

Franz Kafka, Amerika: The Man Who Disappeared

Denise Levertov, Selected Poems

Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star

Federico García Lorca, Selected Poems

Nathaniel Mackey, Splay Anthem

Javier Marías, Your Face Tomorrow (3 volumes)

Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation

Henry Miller, The
Air-Conditioned
Nightmare, Big Sur & The Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch

Yukio Mishima, Confessions of a Mask

Vladimir Nabokov, Laughter in the Dark

Pablo Neruda, Love Poems (bilingual), Residence on Earth (bilingual)

George Oppen, New Collected Poems (with CD)

Wilfred Owen, Collected Poems

Michael Palmer, The Company of Moths

Nicanor Parra, Antipoems

Kenneth Patchen, The
Walking-Away
World

Octavio Paz, The Collected Poems 1957-1987 (bilingual)

Ezra Pound, Cantos, Selected Poems of Ezra Pound

Raymond Queneau, Exercises in Style

Kenneth Rexroth, Written on the Sky: Poems from the Japanese

Rainer Maria Rilke, The Possibility of Being

Arthur Rimbaud, A Season in Hell and The Drunken Boat

Guillermo Rosales, The Halfway House

Jean-Paul
Sartre, Nausea

Delmore Schwartz, In Dreams Begin Responsibilities

W. G. Sebald, The Emigrants, The Rings of Saturn

C.H. Sisson, Selected Poems

Stevie Smith, New Selected Poems

Gary Snyder, Turtle Island

Muriel Spark, Memento Mori

George Steiner, My Unwritten Books

Yoko Tawada, The Naked Eye

Dylan Thomas, Selected Poems 1934-1952

Uwe Timm, The Invention of Curried Sausage

Tomas Tranströmer, The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems

Leonid Tsypkin, Summer in
Baden-Baden

Enrique
Vila-Matas
, Bartleby & Co.

Robert Walser, The Assistant

Eliot Weinberger, An Elemental Thing

Nathanael West, Miss Lonelyhearts & The Day of the Locust

Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire

William Carlos Williams, Selected Poems, In the American Grain, Paterson

For a complete listing, request a free catalog from New Directions, 80 8th Avenue, NY NY 10011 or visit us online at
www.ndpublishing.com
.

Other books

What Matters Most by Bailey Bradford
A Brush With Death by Joan Smith
Chill by Colin Frizzell
As Far as You Can Go by Julian Mitchell
A Dream for Addie by Gail Rock
The Indian Ocean by Michael Pearson
Shug by Jenny Han